


Rift

by irlmaxxor



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 06:00:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4865711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irlmaxxor/pseuds/irlmaxxor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Accepting prompts on Tumblr;</p>
<p>Anon Asked: Stan being angry that Fiddleford forgot about him, and Fiddleford trying to earn his trust back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rift

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, headcanon wormed its way into this one! :’> set sorta’ based on the idea that Mystery Trio was a thing, and this is the aftermath. I might’ve deviated a bit from the original request, but I hope it’s close enough to what the anon wanted!

“ _Man’s memory shapes its own Eden within._ ”

                                                                    **Jorge Luis Borges**

McGucket had all but dozed off by the time his laptop whirred to life, bathing the living-room in a hazy, blue light. He stirred at the sound of the fan kicking into action, rubbing his eyes and wearily typing in a password to start work. He was thankful for the internet in the Shack, knowing full well it’d take nothing short of a miracle to ride on a signal from within the depths of the Bunker, especially with the weather taking a turn for the worse outside; for hours now it had been raining non-stop.

“Declined, declined-- Outright refused.” He muttered, reading through his inbox. “Oh, good to know Mr. Watterson still uses such colourful language.”

Even with the majority of his memories slowly returning, finding work was practically impossible. Reintegration into society was hardly something he expected to be easy, but Fiddleford had silently hoped the startling reputation he’d earned over the years could be redeemed. 

Not that he’d been offered a chance to try yet… 

All of his written applications were rejected instantly, and the word “interview” hadn’t come up once. But who could blame them? Who’d want to hire the senile old despot that’d been living and eating out of the Gravity Falls dump for twenty odd years?

“Ugh, not still tryin’ with that old thing, are you?” A gruff, yet soothingly familiar voice drifted down from the stairs, and McGucket’s face lit up as Stan strode into the living room and sat down next to him. “Y’know it’s hopeless, right?”

“A bit o’positivity wouldn’t hurt, Stan.” He responded, admittedly a little put down. “Mabel gave me a proper make-over, I feel like I look the part. I hoped people’d be more willin’ to give me a chance…”

“I’ve offered you a job in the Shack, what… Three times?”

“That’s cheating, Stanley.”

Fiddleford turned at the sound of laughter, smiling and shaking his head.

“I mean it!”

“Like cheating’s such a bad thing. It got me this far!”

“Huh, o’course it has…”

It was Stan’s turn to shake his head, slinging an arm around Fiddleford’s shoulders as a familiar grin started spreading across his face, the one he saved for recounting tall tales from their time as the “Mystery Trio”. The stories were normally exaggerated beyond reason, but they were always fun to listen to. 

McGucket chuckled as Stan ploughed into his explanation, how him and Stanford had been so wrapped up in their research one night they’d forgotten to pick Stan up after work, who (stranded on the side of a mountain, without a car nor a clue how to walk home), had to cheat his way into Preston Northwest’s car (” _of all the jerks to wind up with!_ ”) for a lift. The more Stan spoke, the more McGucket’s mind drifted from the rejected applications, the criticism and the hate, and the more he found himself lazily sloping into his side. One hand rested on Stan’s stomach, and the other was wrapped around his back, tracing small circles as he listened to the end of his tale with half-lidded, tired eyes.

“Heh, I don’t remember you complainin’ about me so much after that slip-up.” He concluded, laughing to himself and planting a light kiss on Fiddleford’s cheek.

“You hush, as if I could ever complain about you.”

“Oh, but you did… ‘ _Stanford, Stanley’s flirting with me again! Ohhh Stanford, help me! Stanley’s big, strong arms keep distracting me from work!’_ ” He whined in a hilariously inaccurate imitation of McGucket’s accent, smirking all the while.

“Leave off it, Stanley!” He laughed, shutting the laptop and staring into his lap, “How embarrassin’, like I’d remember all that anyway…”

Fiddleford expected some kind of quip in response, a jab or a joke, maybe even (dare he hope?) a flirtatious comment shot his way, but nothing came; only an unsettling silence which smothered the room like a blanket.

“Stanley…?” He tried, eyes drifting from the Laptop (now on the floor, winding down for the evening), up to try and grab Stan’s attention.

“Yeah, well... Not my fault you gotta’ brain like a sieve now.”

Fiddleford paused, lifting his head slightly. That was… Surprisingly bitter, even from someone like Stan.

“N-No, it’s not your fault.” He wished he could shake the hesitation from his voice, but Fiddleford felt all the warmth leave his body as Stan pulled away and started searching for the remote. Was he avoiding eye contact? All the mirth from earlier had vanished, gone with whatever comment he’d foolishly dropped as Stan found what he was looking for, refusing to meet McGucket’s concerned glances and focusing on the television instead. It would’ve been a lie to suggest he was watching whatever drivel they’d decided to show that night, as his eyes were glazed over with a far-off, melancholic look. No, Stan’s mind was elsewhere.

“Stanley, you alright?”

“Fine,” Was the curt response, mumbled as he sat watching adverts fly across the monitor.

“A-Are y’sure…? You seem a little--”

“I’m fine, quit pesterin’ me.”

Tension set across the room, and after a brief moment of silence Stan stood back up and made his way through to the kitchen, cursing the ‘ _crap they call T.V. nowadays_ ’ under his breath. McGucket was unsatisfied, abandoning his seat as he got up to follow him, hovering around the room while Stan set about making himself a coffee.

“Stanley, whatever it is y’can tell me,” he muttered, a hint of desperation leaking through despite his best efforts to keep his voice neutral.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s obviously somethin’.”

“Ugh- What does it matter? It’s just a thing.”

“Because I love you--”

“Yeah, like you’re so fond of saying.”

“I- I am fond’o sayin’ so… I don’t understand, Stanley what’s gotten over you?”

“Because it’d just make you feel bad!” Stan finally snapped, turning around and glaring daggers at Fiddleford. “Because I don’t wanna’ tell you how I really feel, because I don’t know how you’ll react.”

What… What did he mean by that? Fiddleford had never lashed out, never hurt Stan from what he could recall…

But what he did remember was frighteningly sparse.

“Stanley, what’re you talkin’ about…?” He padded a little closer, muttering softly.

“It doesn’t matter, Fiddleford. You wouldn’t remember anyway…”

So that was it.

“Is- Is that what this is about? My memories…? Stan-” He began to raise his voice defensively, expression set in a deep frown. “Stanley, y’know I was in a bad place at the time, I had nothing else to turn to! I- I have problems with addictions, with things o’that nature, and the gun it- It wasn’t somethin’ I could just stop.”

“C’mon, who hasn’t been addicted t’something or another at some point in their lives? That’s no excuse! There were other things y’could have done, I know that!”

“Like what?”

“Like talk to me, maybe?! Trust the man you said you wanted to be with, and I quote, for the _rest of your life_? You shut yourself off, and the next thing I knew you were usin’ that thing every other week- I could barely recognise you!”

“I… I couldn’t just tell you-” McGucket tried to ignore the fact that his breathing had become ragged and shallow, or that his throat felt like it was closing up and drying and why was Stan so angry all of a sudden, where was this outburst coming from? 

“I can’t remember what I saw through that portal in wakin’ hours, but I’ll tell you now, sometimes it filters through into my nightmares--” He paused, shaking his head and screwing his hands tight in the precious, pink sweater Mabel had knitted for him but the other week. “An’ that’s where it belongs, Stan. _Nightmares_. I don’ wanna relive that, I don’ wanna have to relive that explaining it to you, and I sure as hell don’t want you up at night screamin’ at the same demons that I saw all those years ago.”

“So you had to erase everything?” Stan didn’t sound impressed, and his voice just kept getting louder and louder. “You could’ve just stopped there!”

“It- It’s not so simple, Stanley!”

“You erased _me_ , Fiddleford. You put _my_ damn name into that gun, that’s what I’m mad about, not you and your goddamn demons-!”

“Stan, you left me! I- I had nobody, I had nothing, I...”

“Well you could’ve had me! I wanted to stay, and you pushed me out!”

“I… I did, but--”

“No, no excuses! You erased me from your head! Do you even know how much it hurt going to find you and seeing a _stranger’s eyes_ starin’ back at me?!”

A crack of thunder sliced the tension in two, and Fiddleford’s breath caught in his throat as he flinched wildly, staggering back into a wall. He shook his head, staring through tear-filled eyes at Stan.

Stan stopped shouting, lowered his voice to barely above a whisper and continued, undeterred by the storm now raging outside.

“It was bad enough, you usin’ that gun to forget about… About everything-- Ford’s project, all the time you’d spent with him and me over the years, our adventures but… But then y’wiped me. You forgot everything. Our first kiss, our first date, our first time, all of it... Do- Do you even remember now?”

“I- … I don’t.”

Fiddleford wrapped his arms around his torso, drawing into himself. How he wished Stan would be angry again, this… This hurt so much more. But with a dawning, painful realisation, Fiddleford knew that this had been eating at Stanley for a long time… Years, even.

And he hadn’t anybody to talk to, not him, not his brother, nobody…

No wonder he’d exploded.

“Y’know once, me, you and Ford took a trip t’see the Shapeshifter,” Stan turned away from Fiddleford, eyes hidden by the . “We hadn’t seen it in ages, and Ford wanted to check if it was alright. I hated the damn thing, but you talked me into it. Held my hand, told me it was gonna’ be alright.”

McGucket nodded weakly, though he knew Stan wouldn’t see it. 

He just didn’t have the energy to speak.

“--And I believed you,” He spat, “I followed y’both into that dark, stinkin’ cave, and what happened? It attacked us. It was tired of Ford keepin’ it locked up like some sorta’ prisoner, and it lunged straight at us. I remember the fear in your eyes, how scared you were when you hid behind me, shouting for Ford, clinging to my shirt like y’life depended on it… Though I guess it kinda’ did, lookin’ back. Now I’ve done some pretty stupid things before, but when that thing turned to us and started hissing, I… I felt overwhelmed, like I didn’t care how stupid I was, I just wanted t’keep you safe, I wanted to protect you because you were my world.” Then, a quiet addition that Fiddleford didn’t quite catch: “Y’still are…”

“Stan…”

“Heh, I punched that thing square in the face. Or whatever it’s got on the front of its head, anyway. You were cryin’ and sobbin’, burying your face into my chest and weepin’ at me, telling me not to put myself at risk like that and other cute stuff that I completely ignored. You always got mad when I put myself between you and danger, but I could tell you kinda’ liked it. Liked being protected, liked _me_ protecting you.” His voice trailed off and he raised a hand to his face, maybe to adjust his glasses, maybe to wipe away tears, Fiddleford couldn’t tell.

“And y’don’t remember any of that,” He continued, voice hoarse and unforgiving. “You erased it all, every time I saved you, every time y’came runnin’ back into my arms, you don’t remember any of it. The worst part is, you’ll never know how wonderful it felt. You might’ve, but you erased that too.”

He was trembling quietly, and Fiddleford wanted nothing more than to stride over and wrap his arms around him, to tell him it was going to be okay, but... Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure.

“Yeah, I did leave you. I’ll own up to that much. I regret it, Fidds, I regret abandoning you when you were at your worst, I-- I should’ve stayed, should’ve helped with Tate, should’ve been there, I got so wrapped up in trying to bring Ford back I forgot to take care of the family I had right in front of me, but you… You crossed a line.”

He’d heard enough. He gave a curt nod, humming in agreement and slipped his darling sweater over his head. He folded it, placed it on the side counter then spoke, carefully and deliberately so he could be sure that Stan heard.

“Stanley… You’re right, I messed up. I messed up real bad.”

Stan caught himself mid-sniff, at least having the decency to turn and look McGucket in the eye as he gave his piece.

“And I’ve been selfish. I’ve loved you all this time… Though- Though I never really got t’understand why until my memories started comin’ back. I knew you were kind, and gentle, and… And _wonderful_ , but we’d barely interacted and--” He sighed, shaking his head as he realised his train of thought was drifting. “Either way, I thought bringin’ my other memories back would help, would help y’see that I was worth lovin’ in return, not just some broken down hillbilly that needs a place to stay and a hand to hold… But all I’ve done is hurt you, and that’s not… That’s not what I wanted.”

The harsh wind outside continued to rattle the windows and doors, but to the two men stood frozen in the kitchen the world had fallen unbearably still. Fiddleford hung his head, sniffing a little and fighting back tears as he moved across the room, stopping only when he reached Stan.

“I am sorry, Stanley… An’ I know apologies aren’t going to fix what I broke, but for what it’s worth… If I could, I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. I… I wish you all the best.”

And with that, he turned toward the door and left.

Whatever Stan had wanted to say caught in his throat, trapped behind a choking sob. Time slowed as he watched Fiddleford open the front door, throw one final, broken smile back his way, then just… Leave, not another word said as he strode out into the howling storm and shut the door behind him.

**OUTSIDE**

Fiddleford had never really expected any real benefit to come from trimming his beard to a sensible length, but as the wind whipped around him and stirred his hair into a god-awful mess, he found himself silently thanking Mabel’s fashion choices. Three minutes down the road and he was already soaked through, clenching his teeth in a futile attempt to stop them from chattering and furiously rubbing his arms in the hopes that just maybe he’d stop shivering quite so harshly. If this was how he fared behind the cover of the neighbouring forest, Fiddleford shuddered to think what it would be like when he hit the open road. Maybe he should’ve kept that sweater on…

But he knew he couldn’t, he had to leave it all behind. He loathed to admit it, but this had been long coming. It was less a prediction, more a terrible knot in his stomach, one perhaps picked up after years worth of adventures lived in the very forest he was walking around now, memories lost to nameless paranoia and overwhelming fear. He couldn’t expect Stan to understand, he couldn’t… He wasn’t strong like him, nor as brave, or as selfless, or as resolved in his actions. He was just Fiddleford, the nerdy, spineless mechanic. If he had any conviction housed in his thin frame, he might’ve pushed at Ford just a little harder, convinced him to drop the portal project and saved them all thirty-years worth of stress.

Saved his memories, too…

But some memories needed to be put to rest; as desperately as he wished for his pleasant memories to resurface, all he received were horrors re-lived through nightmares, tall shadows and echoing laughter.

So he carried on walking, all his willpower forged into looking ahead. He wouldn’t look back at the Shack, he’d leave Stan and the others alone, and everything would go back to normal.

Old Man McGucket, living on the outskirts of town in his dumpster. Simple, content…

Alone.  
  
  
  
 **INSIDE**

“Grunkle Stan…?”

Stanley hadn’t realised just how long he’d been standing, staring completely frozen at the closed door until a small, timid voice broke through the silence. He glanced around until his eyes met Mabel’s, cracking a tired, but believable smile.

“What’s the matter, sweetie? Storm keepin’ you up?” He paused to chuckle, kneeling down and ruffling her hair.

“Was that Old Man McGucket leaving just now?”

Crap, she knew.

Of course she knew…

He sighed, standing up again and resuming his post in the doorframe, reaching out for his stone-cold coffee on the kitchen side and taking a long sip.

“Yeah, it was. He’s heading home early tonight.”

“But… Aren’t you giving him a lift?” She muttered, staring up at him with wide, worried eyes. If anyone could tug at a heartstring, it was Mabel. “The storm’s getting pretty bad…”

“I- I want to, but I don’t think that’s a good idea, kiddo.”

“I heard you shouting.”

Damn.

“Yeah, we… We were just talking.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“I’m not--!” A horrid feeling washed over him, maybe guilt, maybe humiliation. Either way, he furiously rubbed at his eyes to try and remove any evidence of his emotional unrest, he couldn’t let his family see him like… Wait, he wasn’t crying at all-- His eyes were bone dry.

She laughed to herself, though it was a barely a shadow of the warm, joy-filled laughter Stan was used to.

“Got you good there, huh?”

“Real funny kid. C’mon, you should be in bed. Leave me to sulk down here alone.”

“No way!”

“Mabel…”

“Grunkle Stan, sit down right now!”

Taken aback by her sudden display of assertiveness, he sat in a chair as directed.

“Mabel, if you’re gonna’ try and convince me to--”

“Shush and listen to me, Mister!”

Stan sighed, sat back and folded his arms.

“I’m listening.”

“Do you have any idea who you just let walk out the door?”

“I’m pretty sure I--”

“The love of your life, that’s who! Your dreamboat, your soul mate, your one and only--”

“Get to the point.”

“If you let him go now, you might never get him back!” Stan was trying to ignore it, but desperation had worked its way into her voice. She looked as heartbroken as Stan felt, waving her arms about while her eyes began to water. “You’ve been so happy with Old Man McGucket, I see you guys on the sofa making cuddle-puddles, kissing in the hallway like that music video I showed you, and you can be old and grumpy and cynical, but you do it together! He was so lonely without you, and he tried not to show it but he was… He’s a better person with you, and you’re better with him. Like- Like two halves of a whole!”

“Mabel, sweetie… Things aren’t always so simple.” He sighed and massaged his temples, eyes glued to his lap. “Yeah, I love the guy… I’d give him the world, and I admit I made a mistake leavin’ him but-- But you two saw those memories, you know that he-- He erased me, how’m I supposed to just forget that?”

“Grunkle Stan, don’t you see…?”

“See what?”

“That just means he couldn’t bear living without you.” Mabel’s voice had lowered to a near-whisper, “He was suffering so much by himself, he tried to remove everything that made him feel bad, and that was…”

God, it was _him_. Fiddleford wasn’t the problem at all, it had been...

Mabel nodded sadly, acknowledging the recognition slowly spreading across Stan’s face and all at once he understood, everything clicked into place.

Suddenly Stan’s thoughts drifted to poor Fiddleford, forcing himself back to the dump in this awful storm, trudging back because he honestly thought Stan was better off alone.

“Mabel?”

“Uh huh…?”

“You’re a life saver, kiddo.”

He nodded, and stood up, resolution hardening his features as he grabbed the closest coat to him (which just so happened to be Ford’s, hung up on a peg near the wall), and stormed toward the door.

Mabel let out a small whoop of joy as she watched him open it and charge out, grinning whole-heartedly and patting herself on the back. Another job well done.  
  
  


**OUTSIDE**

The winds had only gotten worse; Fiddleford doubted he’d ever shivered so violently. He was sorely missing the jumper now, desperately massaging his arms with numb fingers to try and get the blood flowing again- It was silly to walk out in the middle of such a harsh storm, no matter how tense things had gotten… Maybe he could turn back.

Would Stan let him back in?

He could see it now, his pathetic, shivering self turning up at the door whimpering and begging to be let in. But regardless, as the winds kicked up again Fiddleford doubted he had much choice.

“Oi, nerd!”

Jolted out of his thoughts, McGucket whipped around and stared down the road behind him.

“Fiddleford, wait up!”

What the hell was he doing outside--? And… In Ford’s coat?

“S-Stanley?!” He called back, not entirely sure how to react. “What’re you doin’ out, it’s--”

“Terrible, I know.”

“So- So why’re you _mmph_ -” Fiddleford didn’t get chance to finish, as the second Stan caught up with him he was being pulled forward, into the warm, warm inside of Ford’s coat and Stan was kissing him through the shivers and the trembles, and... And it felt so _good_ …

A slave to the warmth rising in his chest, he pushed forward and into the kiss, moving his lips against Stan’s and happily worming his freezing hands around his back and up his shirt. It was more an effort to stave off what was bound to be frostbite setting in than a romantic gesture, but regardless of whether Stan recognised this or not, he let out a sharp ‘ _yelp’_ at the very sudden, icy sensation creeping under his shirt.

“H-Heh, sorry…” Fiddleford mumbled, looking up into Stan’s gentle, brown eyes. “Couldn’t help m’self.”

“N-No worries, N-Nerd…” Stan stammered back, his expression a strange mixture of exasperation and relief. “I deserve it, I- I’m sorry, I was a jerk in there.”

“Stanley, y-y’don’ need to apolo--”

Once again Stan cut him off with a kiss, pulling back with a tender smile and a shake of his head.

“C’mon, at least let me finish.”

Fiddleford hummed in agreement, practically glowing at the concept of being kissed twice in the span of a minute, not least when physical affection from Stan had been so sparing lately.

“I… I overreacted, back there in the Shack. You were right, you had a lot goin’ on, and- I was too focused on tryin’ t’bring Ford back, and you were suffering right under my nose. I don’t wanna lose you again, Fidds. I- I _can’t_. Please don’t leave…”

And there it was, that magic word that Stanley never said, yet here it was, falling out of his mouth as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Please… He really wanted him to stay.

“S-Stanley, y-y’don’ have t’bother with…” McGucket could barely speak, stuttering and tumbling on his words, wishing he could ignore the biting cold as easily as Stan seemed to be. “A-Apologies… I don’ care, I just don’t want you hurt because of me, t-tha’s all...”

“No, I do. You… You said before, you’d do it all over again in a heartbeat, right?”

“I-I did say s-somethin’ like that, sure.” He spluttered, a small bubble of hope rising as the most _wonderful_ warmth continued spreading through his body, finally reaching the tips of his fingers and toes and sending sparks through his chest.

“Then let’s do it, let’s start again, you an’ me.” Stan was beaming now, pulling Fiddleford even closer into his chest and laughing that warm, hearty laugh that he adored. “Let’s make new memories, t’heck with the old ones! Some of them sucked anyway, good riddance!”

“Stanley, I-- I…” Fat tears were rolling down his cheeks, but Stan was already wiping them away and showering kisses over the numb skin beneath. He was serious, he wanted to start again. Fiddleford knew it was a mistake to presume Stan truly didn’t care, but he was willing to work around his issues and that was what mattered… In truth, it was more than he’d dared hope for.

“A-Alright-- If- If you’re sure, I-I’m more’n willin’ t’give i-it another shot, S-Stanley,” Caught between shivers, sobs and relieved laughter, it was a miracle that Fiddleford managed to speak at all, but Stanley hung on every word as if his life depended on it. “I love you… T-Thank y’so much, thank you…”

Stan planted one final, gentle kiss on his cheek before pulling back and gesturing toward home.

“C’mon, nerd. Let’s get back to the Shack. We gotta’ get you warm before y’shiver the last of the meat off your bones. I bet you’re starving, I’ll make whatever you want just name it. Even-” At this point he paused to shudder, shaking his head and grimacing at the thought. “Even that vile Macaroni Cheese stuff you like so much, stinks up the place like y’wouldn’t believe.”

Fiddleford laughed, entwining Stan’s fingers with his own as he walked alongside him.

“Thank you, Stan. But--”

“Ah, no buts. You ask for whatever you want, I won’t take no for an answer.”

“No, that’s not...” He chuckled again, shaking his head, “I was just gonna’ ask why y’walked all this way when y’could’ve just brought the car.”

“... _Fuck_.”


End file.
